Lyle's League of Superheroes
by petrelli heiress
Summary: Ever wonder where those forgotten characters have disappeared to? Or what Lyle does when he's not on screen which is basically always? Well, here are some one-shots about characters who inadvertedly become linked.
1. Lyle

Lyle glanced down the chasm before him and wondered how he had come to be here. He remembered it all, even the parts that dark skinned man had erased. When he'd come into his powers he'd wished for all his memories back.

That was his power, if it could be called that. The power of wish fulfilment. It was pretty cool, except when he wished for something physical. _That_ was usually accompanied by pink sparks or puffs of smoke. Very embarrassing.

He sighed. While his sister (who wasn't actually his sister; he'd suspected as much) had gone off to New York to 'save the world' and Dad followed, to clean up after her as he usually did, Lyle had sat home (which was a motel room, because Dad had, indirectly, burnt the house down), bored stiff. That was, until something had happened that had changed his entire life.

He smiled at the memory. He'd just been sitting on the sofa, minding his own business. Mom had come along and told him that she was taking Mr. Muggles to his appointment at the dog beauty therapist. She'd left. Lyle had always wondered at his mom's obsession with that Pomeranian; it seemed as though he was compensating for Dad's many absences. But that was just a thought.

He had watched TV for awhile but, as was usually the case, there was nothing interesting on. He glanced over at the remote, all the way on the other side of the room. How had it got over there?

It was as though the remote had read his thoughts. One minute it had been on the other side of the room, the next it was beside him.

"What the-" he'd muttered, in shock. Since it could have just been his imagination (the remote could have been beside all the time) he'd decided to wish for something that could only happen in some weird alternate dimension.

_I wish that Buffy Summers would appear in front of the TV, _he'd thought, closing his eyes for good measure.

When he'd opened them Buffy Summers was not standing in front of the TV.

"Damn," he'd muttered, not really that surprised but somehow disappointed.

And then she was, appearing in a puff of smoke.

"Where am I?" she'd said, freaked. Spotting the dumbfounded Lyle she'd asked, "What the hell have done to me, you little pipsqueak?"

Lyle had wondered why her quips weren't as razor sharp as they usually were but put that down to being in a strange situation. Since the experiment had worked as well as the fact that Buffy was starting to look mighty pissed Lyle had wished her back to where she belonged.

He thought about what this all meant. _Maybe I have a power like Claire, except not as stupid,_ he'd thought. _I wonder what else I can do._

Lyle smiled, remembering what he _had _done. Scaling the Eiffel Tower, visiting the site of Area 51 and meeting his favourite characters from TV were just a few of them.

He'd decided not to tell his parents. One known super powered kid in the family was enough. He didn't want to put his mother through any more stressful situations like Claire and Dad had done. So he was basically on his own, in figuring out just what his powers actually entailed.

He grimaced as he remembered the first time the pink sparks had made their appearance. He'd stopped a bus from crashing into the side of the road. Secretly, of course; he'd even worn a mask, just in case. Instead of just letting him catch the bus without a fuss pink sparks had issued from his hands and stopped the bus before it tilted onto its side. Very embarrassing. He'd never liked pink and this just deepened that hatred.

But he couldn't help it. Just as he had to live with the fact that his dad loved Claire more than him he also had to live with the pink sparks. That was really the only downfall of the power.

And that he had to be careful what he wished for, as the cliché went. He decided early on that he would never wish for something (like his father's love) that would affect someone's free will. He knew that much from watching TV and reading comics. He also knew that wishes had to be said right. You could rush a wish.

Many adventures later Lyle found himself on the edge of the Grand Canyon. He'd been following a super powered villain, who'd murdered some many people. Rather than just believe that the guy was bad he'd researched him. Apparently the guy had been adopted and his parents had never told him. Then Dad had come along and forced him to become a serial killer. Sometimes he did not understand the things Dad did. Scratch that. He never understood.

The guy had then been manipulated by Claire's biological grandparents into believing that they were his parents. Lyle had met the grandmother. He sympathised with Sylar, as he called himself. No wonder he was messed up.

"Why are you following me?" a deep voice said from behind him. Lyle turned.

_My God_, he thought, _the guy has humungous eyebrows_.

Lyle looked at Sylar, who looked back.

Sylar smiled, as though he could not believe what he was seeing. "Dressing up as a superhero? That's a new one."

Lyle glared at him. "I am not dressing up as a superhero. I _am _a superhero. There is a difference...Namely the words 'dressing up as.'"

Sylar tried not to laugh.

"Haven't you heard of me? The Souhaiter?" Lyle asked, the sympathy he had been harbouring quickly disappearing.

Sylar looked surprised, and a little scared. "That's you? I thought you'd be...older?"

"Most people do."

"Why are you following me, then?" Sylar repeated, backing away slowly. He'd heard of the Souhaiter (the French verb for _to wish_). None of it had been good, at least when concerning him.

"I've wanted to met you for awhile. I've heard many things about you," Lyle replied.

Sylar looked like he didn't believe him.

"No, I really mean it," Lyle tried reassure him. "Why exactly do you go around killing people for their powers when you can just get them empathetically?"

Sylar shrugged. "I'm a monster. It's what I do."

Lyle was puzzled. "Who told you that you were a monster?"

He looked surprised. Obviously he'd never been asked this question before. "Everyone."

"And do you think you're a monster?"

"Yes," Sylar said, disgusted, not with Lyle, but with himself. "I am a monster."

"Hmm...interesting," Lyle commented, noting something down in a notebook that had just appeared.

"You know, I'm starting to feel as though I'm with a psyhciatrist," Sylar said, starting to look nervous. This gave him pause for thought. When was the last time he'd felt nervous? "Maybe I should just take your power. What exactly _is _your power?"

"Now that would be telling," Lyle said wagging gis fingers at the super powered serial killer before him. "And why would I want to tell you anyway? So you're just giving into what you believe is your nature?" he added, changing the subject.

Sylar was caught off-guard and answered truthfully. "Yes. But—"

Before he could continue Lyle interrupted with, "And your nature is what people say it is. Obviously you believe what they say." Lyle looked slightly disgusted. And then changed tact again. "Do you ever wish that you weren't a monster?"

Sylar looked wistful. "Every day."

Lyle grinned wickedly. "Your wish is my command!" He clicked his fingers. Not for any particular reason. Only because it made for a good effect.

Nothing appeared to happen and Sylar looked puzzled. "What...?"

His mouth widening into a sort of Cheshire Cat grin, Lyle said, "Try using your powers."

Sylar did. Nothing. He tried again. Nothing. "What did you do to me?" he asked getting increasingly more frustrated with every failed attempt.

"I took away your powers. Of course that doesn't erase all of the evil you've done but you can work on that. You know, for every person you've ruined the life of or murdered help two strangers. Something like that. God!," he added to himself. "I feel like I'm some sort of good fairy or something." He shuddered at the thought.

Sylar still look confused.

Lyle gave a frustrated sigh. 'This is what is called a second chance. Although in your case," he added thoughtfully. "It would be more life a third or fourth chance. You're the one who wished he wasn't a monster.

"Look," he said as Sylar continued to look puzzled. "It's like the whole weight thing. It's very easy to put on weight – i.e. to do evil – but it's very hard to lose weight – i.e. to do good. I mean, you have to exercise regularly and eat the right food. To put on weight you just have to sit in front of the TV and eat junk food. Get it?"

"I think so," Sylar said, still trying to get his head around the weight analogy. "What if I kill again? What then?"

Lyle smiled sadly. "Then I'd have no choice but to kill you. And I really don't want to do that because you seem like a nice person but," he sighed, "a guy's got to do what a guy's got to do."

Sylar shook his hand. "I promise I'll try."

Lyle couldn't resist. "There is not try. There is only do," he said solemnly.

Sylar, at first puzzled, after a few minutes began to laugh.

Sylar succeeded in redeeming himself although it was difficult and he had to leave America to do it. A few years later he met Elle, who had been found and resurrected by Zack. After talking for a few hours (something Rebecca, the woman she was staying with could attest to) they parted as friends.

Lyle continued in his guise as the Souhaiter. He rarely spoke to his family, and they never guessed his secret. Having met Monica, who was disguised as a superhero in New Orleans, he found a true partner.

THE END


	2. Zach and Elle

Zack walked down the beach slowly. It was not usual for him to have a spare moment in which he could just do something as simple as walk on a beach, especially once Claire had left town suddenly and he had come into his powers.

The newspapers called him 'The Resurrection Man.' No guesses as to why. He could bring people back to life; it was as simple as that.

Once that had become known, people from far and wide called on his services. For someone as young as he was, he had to make some incredibly hard choices. Sometimes he only brought them back for a short time, sometimes indefinitely. Sometimes he didn't even bring them back. It was so hard to choose. Because of this he had to grow up quickly.

Sometimes he wished he could go back to a simpler time when all he had to do was make music videos and keep Claire's secret. Those were the days.

He sighed and put his hands in his pockets. Then he paused. A few feet away was a charred corpse. Another sigh, this one resigned, escaped him. He knew what he had to do.

He bent down beside the corpse and placed his hands on its temples. It was as though the corpse had been waiting especially for him the power ran through him into it so fast.

Before his eyes the corpse regrew skin, hair, muscle, all it needed. Apparently breasts were among those things as well. He immediately covered her with his jacket as she gasped for breath. She looked up at him, panic rising in her eyes.

"He killed me, didn't he? I was...dead?" She looked so sad.

Zack nodded slowly, even though he didn't know who 'he' was. When she tried to get up he gently pushed her back. "It doesn't do to get up immediately afterwards. I know that for a fact," he said, looking her over. It was too bad his power didn't bring back clothing; this would be embarrassing.

The girl, to top it all off, was older than he was, by at least five years. This would have fazed him a year ago; now it was just an inconvenience. He hadn't become used to giving orders to far older people. He decided to start simply.

"What's your name? Can you remember?" he asked.

She lay on the beach, covered by his jacket, staring up at the sky. "Elle," she said once she realised he was talking to her. "Elle, my name is Elle."

"Okay, Elle," he said. "Now why don't we get you into some clothes?"

"Okay..." she replied vaguely, standing up with his help.

He led her back down the beach until they reached his beach house. There were always clothes in there, whether for a female or male. He was staying there at present because it had been close to his previous client. He always felt tired after a resurrection so it paid to have somewhere close by to crash at.

A few weeks later Elle was sufficiently recovered to be able to come out and sit on the patio with Zack. He had always had a way about him that made people want to tell him secrets; when he had come into his powers that natural ability had seemed to grow until it almost seemed like second nature for the people he resurrected to spill their secrets.

Elle told him all about her life leading up to her death. When she mentioned Claire he almost asked how she was but decided against it.

As Elle began to come to the end of her story she began to cry and eventually began yelling, "_Why_? Why did he kill me?" She buried her head in her hands and sobbed her heart out. Zack rubbed her back sympathetically.

Sylar. The man who had killed Jackie. Whose name appeared to be Gabriel Gray. Zack had to question him himself. From what Elle said he had seemed to love her – so why kill her? According to her it was because she had known that the Petrelli's had not been his parents, and had lied to him.

"Did you lie to him?" Zack asked quietly.

"Yes and no," she said through sobs. "I never told him they were his parents...I just didn't correct him." She looked stricken. "What is the matter with me? Why didn't I correct him?"

Zack looked across at her steadily. "You know why."

Elle gazed at him for a moment then began sobbing in earnest. He let her cry herself out and then led her back to her room where she slept until the next morning.

Before she had arisen Zack phoned one of his past clients in London and asked them if they could take her in. They said they would be happy to. Zack told them to expect her within the week.

When she came into the kitchen an hour later Zack told her that she would be going to visit some of his friends in London.

"Am I that much of a nuisance?" she asked, trying to hide her hurt.

Zack smiled. "Nothing of the sort. It's just that I think you'd be safer if you were...somewhere else for awhile."

"Somewhere Sylar couldn't find me?" she asked.

"Well...yes," he answered, handing her a bowl of Coco Pops which she proceeded to eat with gusto. "And I think you'll be able to recover better away from all this turmoil. Rebecca and her daughter, the people you'll be staying with, they'll look after you. Unless you can think a better idea?" he added seeing her frown.

"It's just...that all my life there has been someone telling me what to do. I just..."

"...want to go your own way? Be independent?" he finished, smiling when she nodded. "In London you _can _do that. I'll give you some money, just enough to tide you over until you get a job, and Rebecca will let you stay as long as you like. Become an electrician," he added spontaneously.

She laughed for the first time in weeks. "You know, that's not actually a bad idea."

At the airport Zack gave her a card with the number he could be reached at anytime on it. If you need anything, he said, call me. She smiled and boarded the plane.

In London Elle eventually became an electrician. A year after this she met Sylar again. Having been stripped of his powers permanently he had reverted to his clockmaker persona. He had found his family. They parted as friends.

Zack continued as The Resurrection Man. After getting shot through the heart trying to help the Souhaiter he found that he could resurrect himself as well. He eventually met Claire again.

THE END


	3. A Day In The Life Of Jackie Wilcox

**Author's Note: I always thought that Jackie redeemed herself by telling Claire to run at the end. So I thought, why not add her to the League?**

**A Day In The Life Of Jackie Wilcox**

Jackie got up at exactly 6:30am, no more and no less. It took her a good hour and a half to achieve that level of perfection everyone expected of her and Jackie had never been one to disappoint an audience. Laugh at them, yes, even make a sarcastic comment or two, but never disappoint.

It took half an hour to choose the perfect outfit for that particular day – a blue halter top coupled with a sky blue mini-skirt and lilac stiletto heels – and the rest of that time was taken up with hair and make-up. Finally, half an hour before her father drove her to school on his way to work, she glided downstairs and into the kitchen where her mother had prepared breakfast for her.

"You're looking lovely today, honey," her mother commented, as she did every day.

Jackie barely acknowledged the compliment, taking it for granted that her mother would always say that. After all, Jackie always looked lovely.

"You're so much prettier than Claire," her mother added wistfully. Mrs. Wilcox had been Homecoming Queen when she was Jackie's age and was faintly disappointed in her daughter, a fact Jackie was very aware of.

Jackie couldn't believe her audacity. She had specifically asked her never to mention Claire's name after their falling out. After all she had done for her that was how she was repaid! She shook her head in despair. _That girl needs some serious therapy_, she thought.

Rather than giving her mother a response – from her attitude Jackie could tell her mother had been at the sherry and would not be lucid for a few hours at least – Jackie merely finished her breakfast and wandered into the living room where her little sister, Dana, sat watching the morning cartoons. At present an old episode of 'Scooby Doo' was showing. The gang appeared to be trying to uncover the Mystery of the Haunted Swamp of Pullman, Arizona.

Jackie sat down beside Dana and ruffled her hair affectionately. Dana, a slightly miffed expression crossing her round face, attempted to straighten her hair while continuing to watch the Scooby gang's escapades.

"I told you never to do that!" Dana said, with a frown. Jackie smiled at her sister's efforts and so decided to help her out. After all, it was partly her fault. Okay, fine, it was entirely her fault. Whatever.

She reached into her purse, which she carried everywhere with her (after all, you never knew when you might need a can of pepper spray or mace, or a hairbrush or any other myriad things in there) and brought out one of her many combs. She began brushing Dana's hair.

Dana, mollified by her elder sister's attentions, settled back to watch Scooby and Shaggy ruin the gang's plans yet again. Jackie glanced down at her sister and smiled. Although she wouldn't trade her life for the world (or the newest Gucci...) sometimes she wished that she could be as young and carefree as her eight year old sister.

Mr. Wilcox, the girls' father, entered the room at that moment. He was dressed in a tie and suit, his coat for the moment flung over his arm. He gazed down at his two seemingly oblivious daughters for a second and then made his presence known by clearing his throat loudly.

Jackie and Dana both glanced up. Dana pouted slightly at having to miss the end of the episode but made no further fuss. Both girls followed their father out to the car, bags in tow, without a word.

"So, Dad," Jackie began as they drove down the street. "Have you thought anymore about letting me go to that camp I mentioned?"

"No," Mr. Wilcox said abruptly, his gaze planted firmly on the road ahead.

Jackie's smile faltered. "Well, then...um...could you?" she asked hesitantly.

Mr. Wilcox's eyes never left the road. "I mean, no, you can't go. And that is final, young lady."

Jackie could do nothing but splutter for a moment. When she finally found her bearings again, she said, "But, Dad! I'm sixteen years old! If you're worried about the boys thing..."

He interrupted his daughter with, "No, Jackie that is not it. You'll understand when you're older, I promise." He finally turned his gaze on her and Jackie found herself, as she usually did when he looked straight at her, succumbing to silence.

However, she couldn't help but glare at her father all of the way to school. Life was so unfair. All she wanted to do was go to that camp that man from school had mentioned, that Camp for the Gifted and Talented. He had specifically said that she would be a prime candidate for a position at the camp. And now she couldn't go because her father said she couldn't. What did he know?

Mr. Wilcox dropped his two daughters off at school before heading to his job at the local branch of Primatech Paper. Jackie jumped out of the car and walked towards the school building, without a backward glance.

Her day was mostly taken up with cheerleading practice in preparation for the football game that night. Even though they had been practising for the past three weeks – including weekends – some of the girls still hadn't perfected the routine. She yelled at Clarissa four times, and even shouted at the normally perfect Denise a record of two times. The yelling at least helped her let off steam.

The classes that day were as boring as ever, with one exception: history. For some reason their teacher, Miss McKenzie, believed that they would pay more attention in class if they had guest speakers, to give a more personal perspective to some of the issues they dealt with. It rarely alleviated Jackie's boredom, at least until that day.

Their guest speaker that day was a scruffy, gruff man called Greg Davis. He was there to talk about European history, namely the British kings and queens. Jackie almost found this an interesting topic because she had always secretly thought she was a princess, like that girl in the _Princess Diaries_. Except that she wouldn't complain about being a princes like that girl did.

Greg Davis, Jackie surmised from his accent and attitude, was himself British and not very uncomfortable being in the classroom in front of all the teenagers. Jackie didn't blame him. Her classmates were not the most appealing of people.

She didn't know why she stayed behind after class. She didn't know why she had the incredibly urge to speak to him. But she did anyway.

He gazed at her with a sharp, penetrating glance that reminded her vaguely of her father. "You're the girl who saved that fireman, aren't you?" he asked as abruptly as her father would have.

She gulped. Somehow she just couldn't lie to him. "No, sir. " She took a deep breath, keeping her eyes firmly trained on the ground. "I lied about that."

Mr. Davis took Jackie's chin in his hand and pulled her face up so that they were looking at each other eye to eye. He smiled and his eyes twinkled. Her father's had never done that. "I know," he whispered.

Jackie's eyes widened. "How...?"

He gave her a look that basically said _Wouldn't you like to know?_

He straightened up seconds later and said brusquely, "Well...best be going. More classes to bore and all." He grinned suddenly down at Jackie and then departed.

Jackie gazed after him, her mouth wide, and then shook herself. "Wait!" she said and ran after him only to find that he had...vanished.

She frowned, but didn't let it bother her. After all she still had to get the squad in shape.

At lunch she waited excitedly for the results of the Homecoming Queen vote. Her friends reassured her that she was definitely going to get it – after all, who else was even running?

So it was with great surprise that she read Claire's name across from the title of the Homecoming Queen. Claire Bennet, her one-time BFF. And there she was, trailed by that gay-boy Zack, who was always following her around nowadays.

She couldn't stop herself. She just had to mock him, especially since it appeared that he had a hand in her being only a member of the Homecoming Court instead of her rightful role as Homecoming Queen.

She smirked at him after she had said it, hoping for a reaction. She certainly got one, but not from Zack. Her hoped-for reaction came from perfect, pretty Claire Bennet herself. She wouldn't have believed it if someone had told her that Claire Bennet would both beat her for the role of Homecoming Queen and punch her in the same day. But it happened all the same.

She spent the rest of the day in the nurse's office, getting her nose looked at and bandaged. Jackie had never been punched before although she knew many people – including some of her friends – wanted to punch her. She had to admit a grudging respect for Claire; she never knew the spineless girl had had it in her.

Thankfully the broken nose did not inhibit her ability to cheer and so when she told her squad to meet her back at the locker room at seven thirty she seemed almost normal – that is, bitchy as hell.

She spent the remaining time until seven thirty looking up the camp for the Gifted and Talented. It sounded quite interesting actually. Jackie was rarely interested in anything so when something came along that did interest she grabbed at it with both hands. She would go to that camp with her dad permitted it or not. She knew she had enough money.

Seven thirty found her in the locker room with the other cheerleaders, getting ready for the Homecoming game. And that was when everything went down the crapper.

Claire entered the locker room with that determined look on her face, that look that always reminded Jackie of that squirrel thing in _Ice Age_, the one with the obsession with acorns.

"What are you doing here?" Jackie asked her, looking down her broken nose at Claire. The other cheerleaders quickly exited the room, leaving Claire and Jackie alone.

"I know you didn't save that fireman," Claire said quietly.

Jackie's eyes widened and she said, before she could think, "How...?"

Claire smiled. "Because I was the one who did."

Jackie snorted. "Oh please. As if you could even save that dog of your mother's from drowning in its own spittle."

And then Claire wasn't in front of her anymore. Somehow in the space of two seconds she had gone from there to crashing against the lockers on the other side of the room. She crumpled to the ground, her neck at a strange angle from her body.

Jackie's eyes widened in terror but before she could glance around to see who – or what – had done that something gripped her by the throat and forced her back to the lockers behind her. A man, his face hidden by a dark baseball cap, came out of the shadows. He replaced the invisible grip with his own even firmer physical grip.

He pointed the index finger of his free hand at her forehead. Jackie wondered, in the way that you do in situations like this, what he was doing and remembering that her mother, before her fall into alcoholism, had said that pointing was impolite. Behind him she saw Claire's crumpled body. And then, suddenly, Claire _moved_.

And then Jackie couldn't concentrate on Claire anymore. Whatever the man's finger-pointing was doing hurt like hell. It felt as though he was ripping her entire head off. Maybe he was. She felt what appeared to be her blood running down the sides of her face and whimpered.

"Run," she whispered to Claire, who was shaking herself off, apparently unharmed even though Jackie could have sworn her neck had been broken. Even Claire did not deserve what was happening to Jackie right now.

Claire gapped mindlessly at Jackie for a moment and then the man, having apparently not found what he was looking for, dropped her and glanced over at Claire...who was alive and seemingly well.

Claire ran. The man chased after her.

Jackie, her life ebbing away, wondered why Claire was always the more important one. Brody had paid more attention to her; the school had voted her their Homecoming Queen; now even a deranged lunatic preferred her over Jackie. Life was just so unfair.

Jackie tried to breath one last time...and couldn't.

_A few hours later..._

Jackie woke up with a gasp, sitting up straight. Finding herself apparently unclothed she wrapped the white sheet around herself. The guest speaker – whatever his name was, Greg Davis? – stood a few feet away gazing down at her with that same sardonic grin he had flashed her before vanishing.

"You know, I still don't understand why I had to resurrect her, Greg," a familiar voice muttered, and Jackie was surprised to find Claire's puppy to the left of her. Zack glared down at her.

"Because," yet another familiar voice said. "We need her."

Jackie looked up into the eyes of Lyle Bennet, Claire's little brother. He smiled.

"Welcome to the League."

**Whoa! Suspense!**


	4. Whatever Happened To Monica Dawson?

**Author's Note: If you do not know the identity of Rebel, don't read this. Unless you don't care about knowing. Then you should read on. And review. :)**

**Whatever Happened To...Monica Dawson?**

Monica remembered when she was approached by Greg Davis just as she could remember when she was approached by the Company. Except that she had at first thought Greg was a homeless man. He certainly looked like one, and it wasn't uncommon to find the homeless wandering around the streets of New Orleans.

But when she looked closer (well, that was unavoidable since he pressed his face incredibly close) she noticed that he did not sport the mandatory glazed look of many homeless. His gaze, instead, was piercing; she felt as though he was looking deep into her soul, which was an uncomfortable feeling to say the least.

Monica, at first, believed that he was from the Company. After all she had not gone on with her normal life after they had left her alone. With Micah's help she had become New Orleans' saviour, St. Joan, just as Micah's comic book had predicted. Although the police outwardly viewed her as a vigilante and thus someone as dangerous as the common criminal, they were secretly glad of her help in stopping the many robberies taking place all over the city as well as any other crimes they would be too busy to deal with.

She had been waiting for another Company visit and so wasn't exactly that surprised when Greg Davis showed up. However, when Greg merely laughed at the idea of being a Company agent, she was confused.

"Then _who _are you working for?" she asked, her confusion plain.

Greg grinned. "I don't work for anyone." He thought for a moment. "Well, I supposed you could say I work for an organisation interested in harnessing your abilities as a superhero. You're already half way there, which is more than I can say for a lot of people." He shrugged. "You interested?"

Monica raised an eyebrow mockingly. It had taken years of practice to make that gesture exactly right. "You haven't really told me anything about this organisation."

He looked at her, his head tilted to one side, and then laughed. "What do you want to know?"

"Well, for starters, what's it called?"

"The League of Superheroes is its real name. But, to the wider world, we're simply known as the Souhaiter Organisation."

Monica's eyes widened. "You mean that organisation that feeds the poor, the homeless and the jobless in third world countries? _That _Souhaiter Organisation? The one the Souhaiter supports?"

Greg grinned at her astonishment. "Yes, _that _one. We recruit people with certain...skills around the world and make them into superheroes, complete with secret identity. Are you interested now?"

Monica couldn't help but grin. "Well, yes." Then she thought a moment. "But there's a catch. My cousin, Micah, he has to join as well."

"Well, course. That is to be expected." He smiled down at her. "Now," he added brusquely. "Maybe we should find someplace more private to talk."

Monica agreed with him completely as so took him home to talk and to meet Micah.

Monica and Micah were inducted into the League a few weeks later. As all members were, they were given code names, which were also their superhero names. Monica was, of course, St. Joan. Micah was given the code name 'Rebel.'

They were usually partnered together, with Monica taking care of the more physical aspects and Micah taking care of the technological aspects. For example their first mission was to break into a secret government building and make off with certain documents and equipment. Micah looped the feed for the security cameras and then Monica broke in and stole the documents. They were in and out in a matter of seconds.

However when Micah was given a new assignment Monica travelled with a new partner, Jackie Wilcox, to London, England. Monica did not like Jackie at first; few did. She thought her a rich, spoiled brat with nothing better to do.

When they arrived at Heathrow Airport a man meet them at the Arrivals Gate and escorted them outside to waiting limousine. As they drove silence permeated the backseat.

Jackie was the first to speak. "I know you don't like me very much," she began in her usual snooty tone. "But I think we have to get a few things straight. First of all, what can you do?"

Monica gazed across at her, a sneer evident at the corners of her lips. "I'm a muscle mimic."

Jackie, for the first since Monica had met her, was confused. "What does that mean?"

Monica sighed. "It means that if I see something being done I can copy whatever was being done. Like, if I saw someone skipping rope really well I could then do the same thing. Understand?"

Jackie nodded.

The conversation stalled. Monica sighed, again, and said, "What can you do?"

Jackie smiled slightly. "I can shapeshift." She shrugged. "It's pretty worthless, for a power. Your one sounds much more interesting."

Monica blinked. Had Jackie just complimented her? She cleared her throat and changed the subject all in one. "So how did you get dragged into the League?"

"Have you heard that 'Save the Cheerleader; Save the World' mantra?" Jackie asked, and continued when Monica nodded. "Most people assume that Claire – you've heard of Claire, right? The Rejuvenating Bunny Girl? – was the subject of that mantra. But, according to the League when they resurrected me, _I _was the Cheerleader people were supposed to save." She sighed.

Monica did a slight double take. "Wait. Did you just say..._resurrected_?"

Jackie grinned at her astonishment. "Yeah. That's almost exactly the way I would have reacted if you'd said something like that. But it's possible, resurrection. There's this guy – you've also probably heard about him in the newspapers, the Resurrection Man? – who can resurrect people." She clapped her hands together. "So...how are we going to go about this mission?"

Monica and Jackie immediately got to work devising a plan. They had fleshed out the basics when the limousine stopped in front of the hotel they were staying at.

In their rooms they unpacked their luggage and then met each other down in the lobby. Jackie grinned when she saw Monica, with only her purse in hand. "Are you thinking what I'm thinking?"

Monica grinned back.

Another perk of working for the League was the huge salary they paid you. Of course a percentage of it went to a chosen charity organisation or two, but this still left plenty to spend on shopping. While Jackie spent her time trying on clothes and either keeping them or throwing them into a pile on the floor, Monica gave much needed fashioned advice.

Of course, if, while shopping, people also noticed that they happened to spend an inordinate amount of time scoping out where the security cameras were and flirting with the security guards they would simply put it down to being teenage girls.

That night the Company vault behind the store was broken into and several important documents were stolen.

**Well, what did you think? I always wondered whether the Cheerleader they were supposed to save was in fact Jackie, so I though why not write it into this? Review, please! They give me warm, fuzzy feelings. O_O**


	5. Adam Monroe: Double Trouble

**Author's Note: Read and _review_ please. I mean, I love being favourited, or having my stories favourited, as much as the next person, but it would be nice to get some feedback, yes? Like, why exactly you favourited it. Or not. It's your prerogative. **

Adam wandered out of the bar, grinning to himself. He shook his head in amusement. The Carp and that friend of his were so easy to manipulate. But it was still fun, for all that.

And then he tripped and knew no more...

...until someone threw a bucket of absolutely freezing water over him. _That_ could wake up a dead man.

He shook his head to dislodge the water that must have filled his ears and then looked up into the face of a young boy, who couldn't be more than fourteen years old. A lot of things had happened to Adam in his 400 year existence. Having a fourteen year old kidnap and then throw a bucket of ice-cold water over him had never been one of them...unless you couldn't that time in Singapore...which he didn't.

He decided to cut to the chase. "What the hell did you do to me? And who the hell are you, anyway?" he added, because he had always thought it was better to know the name of your opponent.

The boy smiled. "Mr. Monroe, do you really think...oh, what the hell," he interrupted and then grinned down at Adam, a cheeky grin more suited to his boyish features. "My name's Lyle. Lyle Bennet." A glint entered his eye. "You know, I've heard a lot about you. I've always wanted to ask you: why exactly did you try to kill people with that virus thing?"

Adam opened his mouth to answer but was interrupted by the kid actually _laughing _at him. He could not believe his ears.

Lyle waved his hand at Adam, trying not to let his tears of laughter show. "Oh, I know why you tried to do that. Something about wanting to be a god, wasn't it?" Lyle took a deep breath and managed to control himself. "Personally I don't understand why anyone would want to be a god. It's enough of a chore being a superhero. Why go and complicate things?"

Adam was fed up. This..._boy _had kidnapped him, had thrown ice-cold water over him and then had had the gall to laugh at him and question his motives. Who did this kid think he was?

"Look, kid, tell me what's going on or I swear I'll come over there and strangle the life out of you," he said through gritted teeth.

Lyle raised an eyebrow. "How exactly are you going to do that?"

It was only then that Adam realised that he was chained to the chair he had up to then been sitting quite comfortably in. He screamed his frustration to the empty air.

Jackie and Greg watched from behind a nearby window.

"He's clearly completely loopy," she said nonchalantly. "Why do we need him again?"

Greg shrugged. "You'd have to ask the boss man. Because I have absolutely no idea."

They then sat back and watched the boss man as he filled a glass of water and waited for Adam to stop screaming.

"Water?" Lyle offered when Adam finally cessed yelling bloody murder.

Adam glared at him, trying to shake off a sense of déjà vu. "And how exactly am I supposed to drink it?" He raised his arms and rattled the chains.

"Well, I suppose I could unchain..." Lyle said nonchalantly. Adam perked up noticeably. "But only if you promise to be a _good_ boy and not try and escape." Lyle grinned down at him.

Adam promised quickly and Lyle unchained him. Immediately upon release he pushed Lyle out of the way and headed for the door he had spied out of the corner of his eye.

He had reached it when something grasped him by his shirt collar and threw him across the room. He crashed into a very hard piece of wall and fell to the ground, dazed. Lyle walked up to him, the kind of expression his family would expect to see if he had lost a game on his Playstation clouded his boyish face, with a dash of disappointment thrown in for good measure.

He didn't know why, but at that moment Adam felt afraid for the first time since he had first learnt of his abilities and nearly died as a result.

Lyle looked down at him and shook his head slowly. "You promised," he pouted. "I save your life and this is what I get? Betrayal?" Lyle thought for a moment and then shrugged. "Oh, well." He turned to go.

Adam sat up quickly, thus giving himself a bit of a woozy head. "Wait!" he said. "What do you mean, you saved my life? How?"

Only Jackie and Greg saw Lyle grin. When he turned back to face Adam his face was suitably schooled in a serious expression. "If we had not brought you in when we did you would be dead by now," he said, as though to a small child. "A man was waiting outside in the alley for you. He would have taken you to see another man, called Arthur Petrelli." At this Adam's eyes widened.

Lyle hid a smile at that response and continued, "And that man would have killed you, as you probably have guessed judging by that freaked-out look on your face."

"But..." Adam began and then stopped. He took a deep breath. "How do you know all of this?"

Lyle shrugged. "Well, we had to at least give the bastard a semblance of you so I doubled you and sent him off to take your place. Since I made him I know what happened to him." Lyle's face scrunched up in distaste for a moment. "I _felt _it." He shuddered.

"Why did you save me, then?" Adam asked, after a moment of silence as Lyle shook off the memory of what had happened to Adam's double.

Lyle grinned. "Because you, for all your weird ideas, _can_ be somebody special."

"Like what?" Adam said derisively.

His grin widened. "A superhero."

Adam snorted. "Right. Me, a superhero. What are you on, kid?"

"What have you always wanted, Adam, above everything else in the world? If you could wish for anything – anything at all – what would it be?" Lyle's voice was soft and Adam had to lean in to hear him.

That checked his derision. What _did _he want? He realised then that he honestly didn't know. Money seemed to be the most viable option. That was what had made him stay in Japan. When the Carp had been his friend, and had persuaded him that he was destined to be Takezo Kensei, legendary hero of Japan, he had wanted what Hiro had said he should want: namely Yaeko and to be a hero.

But he had never really wanted them for himself. Oh yes, he thought he may have loved Yaeko but she obviously hadn't loved him, at least not for himself. So what, exactly, did he want?

"May I think about it?" he asked Lyle quite seriously.

Lyle grinned and offered him a hand. "Well, while you're thinking about it why don't you take me up on my offer?"

"What offer was that, again?" Adam asked, stretching.

"To join the League and be a superhero," Lyle answered and his serious tone quelled any desire Adam had had to laugh.

"If I join this league of yours will you give me what I want?" Adam asked after a moment.

Lyle looked offended. He sniffed. "Well, of course. Once," he added. "You realise what it is you want."

Adam was then introduced to the other members of the League.

Jackie, despite what many thought, did have a sense of humour and thought it would be funny if she shapeshifted into Adam Monroe himself. When he was confronted with himself he freaked out, yelled something that sounds like a type of gobbledegook and swung a fist at her...him...whatever.

She ducked, of course. He was about to take another swing when his fist was caught by an invisible hand. Greg materialise beside him, revealing himself to be the mysterious hand, and glared across at Jackie, who grinned impishly as she shapeshifted back to her normal self.

Lyle merely rolled his eyes and introduced Adam to the other members. Monica shook his hand and then, because she wasn't lacking in a sense of humour either, showed him exactly what he had looked like when he had taken a swing at Jackie. He couldn't help but laugh.

Adam asked Greg awhile later why they took orders from a kid. Greg merely shook his head in mock despair at his lack of knowledge and showed him newspaper clippings of what that 'kid' had done. He realised then that he was in way over his head.

He grinned. What fun.

**Well, people? Did you like? Which person next?**


	6. Sylar's Psychiatrist

Sylar's Psychiatrist

Synopsis: The last time Lyle saw Sylar was when he took away his hunger. Now Sylar needs his help again. So Lyle sends him to the League's psychiatrist, the one and only Eden McCain, resident ghost and Sylar-hater

Disclaimer: I do not own Heroes, much as I wish I did

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The League – namely Monica Dawson and Jackie Wilcox – found a prostate Sylar, crammed into a corner of the bedroom of teenager West Rosen. His eyes, when they entered, held a haunted expression in their dark depths and tears had spilled over, soaking his already blood-soaked shirt.

"I didn't mean to..." he whispered as they passed the bed and came face to...uh, face with what he hadn't meant to do. I will not describe it in too much detail; suffice it to say that it was messy, mostly due to the fact that Sylar had not only cut off the top if West's head but also his entire head, left arm, his torso and (for some reason) his pinkie toe.

As Jackie and Monica crept closer, Sylar's dark eyes caught the movement and widened. He drew himself deeper into the corner. "Don't come any closer!" he shouted, terrified. Of what, neither girl knew.

Nor did Jackie care as evidenced by the fact that just moments later she hit over the head with a baseball bat (which has once been her arm). This was, of course, understandable since he _had _killed her a few months ago.

Sylar woke in a very nice room and was at first totally fine, according to Monica who was watching through a two-way mirror placed in the room for that exact purpose. Apparently the niceness of the room had little affected because a few second later he began screaming, crying and beating his head against the wall. This latter action, needless to say, led to unconsciousness a few minutes later.

"He's off his rocker," Jackie said to Monica a few hours later in one of the League's many meeting rooms. "Why exactly do we need him, Oh Masterful One?" she asked Lyle, sarcasm laced in every word.

Lyle rolled his eyes. He looked over at Greg, who shrugged. "Don't look at me, Lyle," he said, then promptly went invisible to make it easier for him.

Lyle sighed, snapped his fingers and in a shower of pink sparks Greg reappeared. He folded his arms and glared at the offending fifteen year old, who poked out his tongue in a classic example of his supposed maturity level.

The initial fun now over with Lyle got down to business. "Jackie, as I recall, you said the same thing about Adam and look how well he's turned out. " He gestured to Adam, who grinned wolfishly and asked, "You thought I was off my rocker?"

Jackie blushed and mumbled something incoherent, as every girl (except Monica) did around Adam. Monica sniggered.

"Anyway," Lyle said pointedly, giving the girls and Adam a taste of his dreaded glare. They immediately quieted. "Sylar appears to have suffered some sort of mental breakdown..."

At this point Zack raised his hand. Lyle sighed. "Yes, Zack?"

"Sir, what do you think the cutting off of the pinkie toe signifies?" he asked, apparently very serious. "Do you think he might have been experimenting? Because many scientists believe that the pinkie toe is basically useless to the modern human being. Do you think he may have thought this West character had some sort of regenerative ability?"

Lyle buried his head in his hands...discreetly. "No, Zack," he said tiredly. "I think it was just an accident."

Zack looked disappointed and lowered his hand, which had been raised all the time he had been speaking.

"Now that _that's _taken care of..." Lyle took a deep breath and continued. "I think we should send him to Eden. I'm sure she'll be able to help."

The others started looking shifty as soon as Eden's name was mentioned.

"Err..." Claude said hesitantly, a bit surprised at himself. He'd thought he'd run out of first at his time of life. "You do realise, Lyle, that Sylar was in part responsible for Eden's death? Do you think it...wise for him to become one of her patients? You know she'll take great pleasure in his pain."

Lyle blinked. "Well, yes I had realised that."

They waited for him to continue. He didn't.

"And?" Adam prompted, intrigued despite himself at mention of the super powered serial killer.

"And I think this will help both them. Plus Eden has always been very good at her job, even when she does let her emotions cloud her judgements."

Everyone looked pointedly at everything except in the direction of Mr. Mohinder, the Animal Kingdom's representative in the League. Mr. Mohinder blinked slowly and said nothing. As usual.

"So," Lyle said firmly. "That's settled. Now on to other business..."

Sylar had become almost catatonic by the time they sent him to Eden for his first therapy session. Oh, he could walk, eat, drink...doing other things. But rarely did he participate in these activities with any amount of enthusiasm.

He sat down in a chair – there was no couch – in Eden's office and waited for her to arrive. She walked through the wall in front of him and sat down in the chair opposite him. He didn't even show surprise at this.

Eden had been a ghost for months. At first she had just wandered around, occasionally getting kicks out of scaring tourists. However it wasn't until Lyle approached her with the proposition of become the League's psychiatrist that she had had any type of enthusiasm for anything. And yes, he offered her the job without asking her if she could do the job, just saying that she would "know what to do when the time came." Surprisingly he had turned out to be right. Her first patient had been a boy by the name of Monty Petrelli, who had been scared of telling his parents that he had terrakinesis – the power to control earth – because his father was the cause of the nation-wide hunt for people with powers. Somehow she had just...known what to say.

Of course, when she had accepted the job, she had never thought she would be giving therapy to the man who had been the cause of her death. That man was sitting across from her, gazing at her with a dazed look in his eyes.

"So..." Eden said, glancing at Sylar's file. She looked up at him suddenly, actually startling a look from him, and said, "You've certainly had your fare share of problems, haven't you? According to this little file, your dad left when you were very young, your mother consequently became simultaneously obsessed with snow globes and making you into a 'special boy.' Then you develop a power that comes with a hunger that's very hard to control. And some people just don't know what they have, yes?" she added, smiling faintly. "But you're a good person deep down and you know what you did was wrong. So you try to kill yourself. And then suddenly, whoa! This knock-out girl comes along. She seems to accept you for who you are, even going so far as to say that you're special just the way you are. But she is one of the many reasons you kill again."

Sylar interrupted with a disgruntled, "You know, you don't have to tell me all this. I already know all about it. After all I was _there_."

Eden grinned. "So life goes on as normal – people keep trying to kill you or experiment on you – until you discover that those parents that you thought were so beneath you weren't in fact your parents! That you were the brother of Peter Petrelli, your once hated enemy! But again you were disappointed. Those Petrelli's were merely using you. And then you meet that girl again. You killed her dad, then helped her get over her problems with that, and then fell in love, I suppose. You slept with her...and then you killed her. What's with that, anyway? Was it a pre-emptive strike in case she betrayed you again? Or – shock, horror – because she knew that the Petrellis weren't your real parents?"

She stopped then to see what kind of effect she was having on Sylar. Apparently her words had hit their mark for she was rather amazed to see tears in his eyes.

"I am a monster," he whispered.

Eden nodded decisively, trying not to feel for him. "Yes. You are. Now what are you going to do about it?"

Getting no response, she sighed. "Look. You're not the only one with problems, okay?" Sylar glanced up at her and sniffed. Eden continued. "My father left when I was very young too and I was left with my very...abusive stepmother. Not wanting to spend another moment in her delightful company," she said, with a wry twist of her lips, "I ran away. My life wasn't exactly the greatest until the Company found me and...'Recruited' is not exactly the right word but it's certainly what _they _thought they were doing."

Sylar gazed at her for a moment and then said, much to Eden's surprise, "I'm sorry for what I tried to do to you. I truly am."

Eden covered her surprise with a wry smile. "You're not just saying that because I told you my sad little tale, are you?"

Sylar was serious. "No, I'm not."

Eden gazed it him contemplatively for a moment and then said, her voice changing subtly as she used her power, "Tell me what you want more than anything else in the world, Gabriel Gray."

The words "To be loved unconditionally" were wretched from Sylar's unwilling throat. He tried to take them back but it was too late.

Eden smiled for awhile, as Sylar gazed on in confusion. Then she straightened and gazed at him. "This has been such a successful session, Sylar, that I highly doubt I'll be seeing you in here for quite a while."

Sylar could get nothing from her except the words, "You'll see." He did not like being kept in the dark – and had never really liked reading mysteries – and so left in a right huff.

A few hours later Eden and Lyle watched Sylar as he wandered around his room, the niceness of which he was beginning to appreciate.

"So, what do you think we should do?" Lyle asked quietly.

"Have Peter Petrelli look after him," she said firmly.

He blinked, this time in surprise. He opened his mouth but she interrupted him with a nose tap and another "You'll see." If Lyle had known Sylar's thoughts about mysteries he would have completely agreed with them.

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So...you like? Yay? Nay? Review anyway!

Note: if you want to know what happens to Sylar check out the Sylar: After Elle playlist on my Profile.

Note 2: if you want to check out what happens to Sylar and yet don't like slash, don't go to my profile.


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